


i'd like to tell you something (but i have to think of something first)

by obsessivereader



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - No Powers, Getting Together, Libraries, M/M, Meet-Cute, Post-Serum Steve Rogers, engineer bucky, quarterback steve
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-24
Updated: 2017-11-24
Packaged: 2019-02-06 03:41:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,761
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12808824
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/obsessivereader/pseuds/obsessivereader
Summary: Attention focused solely on the book, he moves forward, one slow, pretend-casual step at a time—he’s seen enough movies to know that moving fast will draw people’s attention.Five feet. Four feet. Almost there.He’s a bare three feet away when Rogers fucking materializes out of thin air, cuts right in front of him, and heads straight for the book.“Hey,” Bucky whispers furiously, “I want that book!”Rogers freezes. His head snaps around, and he gives Bucky a look filled with horror.He points a finger at Rogers. “I don’t care how hot you are, or how ripped,” Bucky growls. “My assignment is duetoday, and I will fuckingfight youfor the book if I have to.”Before Rogers can recover from his surprise, Bucky leaps forward, grabs the book, and clutches it to his chest.





	i'd like to tell you something (but i have to think of something first)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Lucifuge5](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lucifuge5/gifts).



> This is my second Fandom Loves Puerto Rico fic, and it's for Lucifuge5, a kind and truly generous soul. She gave me a few prompts to choose from, and this one shouted at me the loudest: Meet cute at the library "Hey, that's the book I wanted to check out!" Lucifuge5, I hope you like this!
> 
> If you enjoyed this fic, and would like to send a little help to Puerto Rico, you can also make a donation here: [“ConPRmetidos”](http://www.conprmetidos.org/)
> 
> Thank you to Jin for being an amazing beta! The fic wandered a bit far afield after she read it, so any mistakes are purely my own.

The words on Bucky’s laptop screen swim in front of his dry, gritty eyes while he tries to squeeze a few more drops of inspiration from his exhausted brain. He can already hear the siren song of the coffee in the library cafe, but he’s pretty sure the way his heart sporadically races for no reason is a sign he should lay off the caffeine for a while. 

The only thing keeping him vertical is desperation. He’s so tired he doesn’t even care that Steve Rogers himself, the hot captain of the football team, the college’s most eligible bachelor, is sitting just two desks away from him in the reading room. From there, Rogers has a perfect view of Bucky looking his absolute worst; uncombed, unshaved, and severely unrested. 

Sleeping three hours a night for a week will do that to a person—strip away all vanity—because time not spent on personal grooming is time spent sleeping. It will also, evidently, cause one to refer to oneself in the third person. 

His asshole brain sends him fantasies of sliding out of his chair and under the desk so he can curl up and go the fuck to sleep. Too bad his assignment is due in a little under three hours. It’s worth half of his final mark for the course, and the one book he needs to finish it is nowhere to be found on the library’s reference shelves. 

He knows. He’s looked. Many times. Many, many, _many_ times.

He drops his head on his arms and groans quietly. When his eyelids start to droop, lulled by the restrained hush of the library and the soothing sound of pages being turned, he forces himself upright. Maybe he should check the returned books shelf again. Hope springs eternal and all that. The walk will help him stay awake at least.

When he gets up, he notices that Rogers isn’t at his desk anymore. A small sigh escapes him at the missed opportunity. If he has to forgo caffeine, at least watching that ass in motion would’ve been a nice pick-me-up. 

Eight feet away from the returns shelf, he stops dead in his tracks. _Holy shit._ There it is, _Fundamentals of Cavitation,_ right there on the shelf. Someone must’ve returned it while he wasn’t looking. 

He hunches down, trying to make himself small and unobtrusive in case he’s not the only person who needs the book. He glances around furtively, checking that no one is nearby. 

All clear. Nothing between him and salvation. 

Attention focused solely on the book, he moves forward, one slow, pretend-casual step at a time—he’s seen enough movies to know that moving fast will draw people’s attention. 

Five feet. Four feet. Almost there.

He’s a bare three feet away when Rogers fucking materialises out of thin air, cuts right in front of him, and heads straight for the book. 

“Hey,” Bucky whispers furiously, “I want that book!”

Rogers freezes. His head snaps around, and he gives Bucky a look filled with horror. 

He points a finger at Rogers. “I don’t care how hot you are, or how ripped,” Bucky growls. “My assignment is due _today_ , and I will fucking _fight you_ for the book if I have to.”

Before Rogers can recover from his surprise, Bucky leaps forward, grabs the book, and clutches it to his chest.

There’s a discreet _ahem_ from the librarian’s desk just off to Bucky’s left. “Please limit your dueling to the library lawn, gentlemen.” The librarian glares at them through horn-rimmed glasses. 

Rogers gapes at Bucky, then at the librarian, then back at Bucky. His eyes are peeled wide, and his mouth hangs open—and yet somehow, Rogers still manages to look attractive. 

Closing his mouth with a click, Rogers swallows, and says, “You think I’m hot?”

“What?”

“You said ‘I don’t care how hot you are.’ About me.”

Panic scatters every thought in Bucky’s head. “No I didn’t,” he blurts out.

“But I just heard—”

“Did not.”

“Did t—”

 _“Gentlemen_ ,” the librarian interjects, in a voice that’s dry as dust.“If you must have this discussion of our good captain’s hotness, or lack thereof, please _also_ limit it to the library lawn.” 

Rogers flushes a truly amazing shade of red. Bucky would probably be about as red if he weren’t so exhausted. The librarian raises one amused eyebrow at them before going back to keying something into her computer.

Time to make his escape. He backs away, still clutching the book tightly to his chest. Who knows what the star quarterback might do to get his hands on the book. If the anguished way Rogers is staring at it is any indication, he might do a lot. 

Maybe even attempt a tackle? 

Bucky squashes down the little flare of hope, turns away, and scuttles back to his desk. 

Not two minutes later, he notices movement nearby and looks up to see Rogers resuming his seat at the desk he was sitting at earlier. What the fuck. That can’t be good. 

What does Rogers even want the book for? He’s a journalism major, for fuck’s sake—why would he need a book on cavitation?

Of course this is the moment Bucky’s bladder decides to make its presence felt. Loudly. 

No way he’s leaving his desk unguarded with Rogers around, though. Bucky might come back to find the book missing. He shifts in his seat and tries to ignore the need to pee. 

Little over two and a half hours left to get his assignment done. He can hang on for that long. 

Hopefully.

It’s while he’s flipping to the relevant page that he notices the edge of a piece of paper sticking out from somewhere in the middle of the book. Curious, he grips it between two fingers and pulls. First, the roughly sketched in lines of a bent head are revealed, and then— 

Jesus H. Christ. 

It’s him. Oozing exhaustion from every line and smudged shadow, sitting at the exact same library desk. The desk and his laptop are barely sketched in, but him… The artist put a lot of time and attention into getting him down on paper—from the hair tied back messily into a bun with loose strands straggling down and tucked behind one ear, to the shadows under the eyes, to the wrinkled hoodie. Even the small hole near the cuff of his jeans, from where he’d got it caught on a nail, is there. 

It’s _amazing._ Who could have drawn it? 

Maybe an engineering student, since it was in an engineering book? He wracked his brain, trying to recall if any engineering students had sat at the nearby desks in the last twenty or so minutes. 

At the rustle of frantic activity from Rogers’ desk, Bucky looks up. Rogers gives him a panicked look before shoving his binder into his backpack and rushing out of the library. 

He blinks at Rogers’ receding back. Could it be—? 

After one moment of pulse-pounding hope, sanity prevails. Rogers had been going for the book at the same time as Bucky had. It couldn’t be him. _In your dreams, Barnes._ The guy probably doesn’t even know he exists. 

Well, no time to think about it now—he has an assignment to finish. 

But first, he really needs to take a leak.

๑ ๑ ๑

Why.

Why, why, why hadn’t he realized that his sketch had gotten caught in the pages of that goddamned engineering book? He sighs. He knows why. It was all Bucky Barnes’ fault—him and his profile that wouldn’t be out of place in a classic Hollywood movie.

Steve rests his forehead on the cool metal of the locker door and tries to ignore Sam’s hoots of laughter. He should’ve just left the book there instead of trying to be helpful and dropping it off at the returned books shelf. 

No good deed, he thinks bitterly.

“So lemme get this straight...” Sam stops to catch his breath and wipe at his eyes. “The guy you’ve been cr—” 

“Shut up!” Steve hisses, as his gaze flicks around the locker room. Clint raises his chin in a little _wassup?_ motion when he sees Steve, but thankfully, everyone seems out of earshot. 

If his teammates find out about this, he’s going to get ribbed for _life._ He can just imagine turning around during a game and seeing STEVE ROGERS <3 BUCKY BARNES up on the scoreboard. As he changes into his uniform, a small, infinitesimally tiny part of him can’t help wondering if that might actually help at this point.

Sam snickers as he tosses his gear into his locker. “The guy you’ve been crushing on since orientation,” he says in an exaggerated whisper, “called you hot, found the creeper sketch you drew of him, and you _still_ didn’t ask him for his number?”

“Are you crazy? I was too busy running!”

“That’s weak, Rogers.” Sam leans around his locker door to shoot Steve a pitying look.“You have no game.”

He gives Sam the finger. 

_Creeper sketch_. Shit. He thunks his head against the locker door, and then again for good measure. He’s got to apologize. Because what he’d done wasn’t quite the same thing as drawing strangers on a train—his crush made it kind of stalker-y to sketch Barnes on the sly. 

“You’re still going to Tony’s party right?” Sam asks.

Steve makes a face at the thought of the heir to the Stark empire, who is both the engineering faculty’s top student and its biggest thorn in the side. “I dunno, Sam. I’m here on a football scholarship, and he’s…” 

“He can’t be _that_ bad. He hangs with good people—that’s gotta mean something, right?”

Steve has to agree; he’s got a lot of respect for Pepper, Banner, and Rhodes.

“Besides,” Sam says, “I want to see what the inside of his house looks like. Don’t you dare back out on me.” Sam gives him a sly look. “You know, _Barnes_ is an engineering student… I hear they’re all invited.”

“Huh.”

“There you go.” Sam finishes pulling his shirt over his head. “You’re welcome.”

Maybe… 

Maybe this will be the thing that finally gives him the courage to talk to Barnes. 

“Rogers and Wilson,” Coach Phillips barks from somewhere behind them. “Some time this century!”

They flinch and turn in the direction of the briefing area. “Coming, Coach!” they yell.

Sam points a finger at him as they hoof it out of the locker room. “Tomorrow night, Steve. You better be there.” 

He will. With bells on. 

๑ ๑ ๑

Fifteen hours after crashing into bed, Bucky wakes up. The first thing he sees is the disaster area his side of the room has devolved into during the last few days of hell. The second is the sketch that’s propped up on his nightstand. 

A strange press of emotions fills him as he studies it—whoever had drawn him had a kind and generous way of seeing the world. Yes, he looked like an exhausted wreck, but the shadows under his eyes and the hollows under his cheeks were offset by the determined set of his chin and the resolve in the angle of his shoulders.

Bucky _really_ wants to find out who drew it. If there’d been any engineering students sitting near him, he hadn’t noticed. But then again, he’d been so focused on his work that he’d hardly even paid attention to Rogers.

_Rogers._

_Oh god, no._

A pained sound escapes him as he curls up into a ball. He’dcalled Steve Rogers hot to his face, and then threatened to fight him over a book.

Does Alaska have a college? Is it too late to get a transfer? 

๑ ๑ ๑ 

Bucky threads his way through the crowd dancing to a mix of classic rock, prog rock, top 40 hits, and EDM. Somehow, all the beats line up perfectly—probably cooked up by some algorithm Tony had written himself. When he spots Nat, he sidles up to her and leans down to whisper in her ear. “I have to leave.”

She gives him a concerned look, then turns back to take her leave from Sharon. After an acknowledging nod from Sharon, Nat takes Bucky by the arm, and pulls him into an unoccupied corner. “We just got here,” she says.

“ _He’s_ here _._ ” 

The concern turns to amusement. “So you called him hot,” she says, not needing to ask who Bucky is referring to. “Big deal. Star quarterback with a face like that, and a body like that… I’m sure he hears it all the time.” She pats his cheek and gives him a pitying smile. “You’re just one of many, James. He probably doesn’t even remember it.”

“Way to spare my ego, Nat.”

“I still say you should have given him your number. You could’ve texted him when you were done with the book.” She waggles her eyebrows. “Offered to deliver it to him _personally_.”

“It was a _reference_ book?”

“Details,” she says airily.

Honestly, he’s kicking himself a little for not thinking of it. But no way he’s admitting that to Nat. “I don’t think he’d have given it to me—I didn’t exactly make the best impression, you know.”

“Steve Rogers scared off by an engineering geek?” Nat makes a rude noise. 

“Hey!” Bucky interjects.

“He’s fearless,” Nat says. “And he plans to change the world one exposé at a time with that journalism degree he’s getting.” 

Clearly Rogers planned on getting a head start on his ambitions with that not-particularly flattering article he’d written on Greek life on campus.

“Like you’re not,” Bucky says. “You and your political science degree.” 

Bucky doesn’t know what Nat went through as a foster kid, but he’s pretty sure she has the same goal as Rogers—to make things better for those who can’t fight back. He’s got the bruises from his regular gig as a volunteer thug at her free self-defence classes to back up his theory.

“You have to understand the system to game the system.” She gives him a cheeky grin and loops her arm through his. “Come on. Let’s go find you a drink.”

As he’s being dragged past the edges of the crowd towards the punch bowl, he can’t help but smile. Nat’d just stopped him from escaping _and_ ended all discussion of the soft heart she likes to pretend doesn’t exist under her cynical exterior. 

One hour later, a dull throb has started up in the back of his head, the music seeming to pound against his brain. He and Morita are standing together quietly at the side of the room, watching the dancers in the section of the living room cleared for them. Both of them have given up yelling conversation at the other people in their group—Bucky because it made his head hurt worse, and Morita because he seemed generally unimpressed by having to talk over the loud music.

It was a mistake to come when he hasn’t fully recovered from too many nights of too little sleep. 

Rogers is also making him nervous. The guy is _everywhere_ ; in the enormous show kitchen that’s full of shiny stainless steel, in the huge living room with the pool table in one corner, on the deck overlooking the swimming pool. 

And there he is again, working his way around the edges of the room with single-minded focus—anyone attempting to talk to him is met with a polite but reserved smile. He’s like a guided missile wrapped in a soft, heather-grey pullover. At his current pace and trajectory, Bucky calculates that Rogers is going to intersect with him in about two minutes.

Bucky’s starting to feel a little hunted.

He sends Nat a quick text to let her know he’ll be hiding out in the library till she’s ready to leave, then nods at Morita before threading his way through the crowd.

It’s blessedly quiet in there after the noise and crush outside, even with the bass thump of music bleeding through the door. Of course Tony would have a library that looks like it’d been transplanted from an English castle—complete with leather-upholstered armchairs in front of a fireplace, built-in bookshelves made from some dark, fine-grained wood which probably cost as much as one semester’s tuition. There are even dark green velvet drapes covering the windows. What must it be like to be this rich, Bucky wonders. 

He’s comfortably settled into an armchair reading the latest edition of Popular Mechanics when the door is pushed open and Steve-fucking-Rogers sticks his head around the door. 

“Uh,” he says, when he spots Bucky. “Bucky, right?” 

“Yeah,” Bucky answers stupidly, a little in shock that Rogers knows his name. 

Rogers opens the door a little wider and slides all the way into the room. Then, he stands there with his hands shoved into the pockets of his jeans—all six feet one inch of him projecting an air of awkward bashfulness. “I’m Steve.”

A smile tugs at one corner of Bucky’s lips. “I know who you are.”

“I’ve actually, uh.” Steve stops to clears his throat. “I’ve been trying to find you this whole evening because…” 

Bucky’s stomach goes into free fall.

“Because I wanted to apologise.”

_What?_

“I know you found the sketch I did of you.”

 _Oh._

_Oh no._

He does _not_ need another reason to crush on Steve. He’d already fallen pretty hard after seeing Steve arguing for an open immigration policy that one time he’d snuck into Nat’s pol sci lecture.

“I should’ve owned up to it straight away,” Steve continues, “instead of waiting around to try to grab the book.”

“Is _that_ why—?”

A sheepish smile and a nod is his answer.

“I _knew_ you were up to no good,” Bucky says. “You know how badly I needed to take a leak? If you hadn’t left, I might’ve have peed my pants.” 

Bucky closes his eyes and slowly exhales through his nose. Did he really just tell Steve Rogers he might’ve peed his pants. _Kill me now._

Steve’s eyes get really wide, then he opens and closes his mouth a few times, probably because he doesn’t know how to respond to that. 

_Please don’t_ , Bucky thinks. _Please just let’s pretend I never said that_. 

“I’m so sorry,” Steve finally says. His face is red as hell, but there’s a suspicious gleam of what might be amusement in his eyes. 

“Nothing to be sorry for,” Bucky says in a rush. He’s too fucking glad to move past his conversation killer to even bother trying to make Steve squirm a little. “I’m keeping it, though.”

That surprises a pleased smile out of Steve. “It’s yours.” Steve rocks back and forth on his heels as he takes in the room. Then, he seems to come to some sort of decision and points at the chair opposite Bucky’s. “Is it okay if I…?”

“Yeah, sure.” Bucky’s heart rate, which hasn’t really slowed down after the initial shock of seeing Steve, kicks up another notch. The library suddenly seems very quiet, and very empty. 

Except for the two of them. 

Alone. 

They stare at each other for a bit until Bucky blurts out the first thing that pops into his head. “You’re really good.”

“Thanks…?”

“I mean at art,” Bucky clarifies, resisting the urge to bury his head in his hands. “It was really good, that sketch you did.”

“Oh!” Color rushes into Steve’s cheeks. “Thanks.”

_Too fucking cute._

“How did it end up in an engineering book, of all places?”

“Ah, that. Well…” Steve rubs the back of his neck and gets a little shifty-eyed. “The book was already there when I sat down, so I thought I’d return it on my way out. Must’ve gotten a little... distracted when I was packing up—didn’t realize it’d slipped in the book.”

“Huh.”

They stare at each other for a moment. _Step up, Barnes._ They got past the pee statement, surely he can think of something to say to make a good impression on Steve. 

He’s still scrambling when Steve clears his throat and says, “So you think I’m hot?

“Oh my god.” So much for Nat’s assumption that Steve wouldn’t remember. Bucky’s going to kill her the next time he sees her. “I’m really sorry about th—” 

“I don’t mind.”

“What?”

“I said I don’t mind.”

“Mind… that I think you’re hot.”

“Yup.” 

The look Steve’s giving him—a hint of flirtation, a hint of a challenge, leavened with a tiny little touch of nerves—it should be illegal, because it’s making his brain leak out his ears _._

“Did you mean it?” Steve asks. 

“Absolutely.” Bucky nods emphatically. “Yes. One hundred percent yes,” he adds, in case he wasn’t clear enough the first time around.

Steve’s eyes twinkle at him as a grin creases his cheeks. “That’s… um, great.”

“Why?” Bucky asks. He can’t help but grin back at Steve, because wherever this is going, he likes it. 

“Because I think you’re hot too.” Steve quirks an eyebrow at him. “Obviously.”

Oh dear gods. That right there is sass, and if Bucky has a type, it’s Sassy. Hot and built like a Mack truck are just the icing on the cake.

“‘Obviously’?” Bucky says. 

Steve looks up at Bucky through eyelashes that are just excessive, because what human being needs eyelashes that long? 

“I’ve only been trying to ask you out since the first time I saw you.” 

“Well,” Bucky says, as he spreads his arms out wide. “Now’s your chance.”

๑ ๑ ๑

“I’m sorry,” Natasha says to the tipsy-looking couple stumbling their way down the corridor towards the library. “The library is off-limits for the moment. Tony’s orders.” 

They make disappointed noises, but when confronted by Natasha’s knife-edged smile, they turn around and wander back towards the main part of the house. 

Damn, Sam thinks, she’s good. He says, “So love is just for children, huh?”

Natasha saunters over to where he’s sitting on the floor with his back to the wall, her movements lithe and controlled, black skinny jeans showing off the lean muscles of her legs. Sam swallows through a suddenly dry throat.

“Oh please,” she says, in her husky voice, as she takes a seat opposite him. “They _are_ children. I can’t watch them flounder about for another semester—it’s starting to get embarrassing.”

She gives him a sidelong glance through catlike green eyes, and a smile with a hint of a dimple, and oh, he’s in trouble. He’s in so much trouble.

**Author's Note:**

> Come find me on tumblr :) [yetanotherobsessivereader](http://yetanotherobsessivereader.tumblr.com/)


End file.
